


Soda and War

by Nightmarechaser



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Love, Soda, War, can be read as platonic or romantic, care, i have no idea how to tag this, please just give it a try, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 14:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18345284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmarechaser/pseuds/Nightmarechaser
Summary: An extended comparison of soda and war, but that's not what this is about. It's about care and broken bits.





	Soda and War

**Author's Note:**

> So here's one of the first presentable things I wrote. I honestly don't know what to call this, but I think the closest category is prose, so.  
> I always love to hear feedback.

Soda is a bubbly thing. I can understand why some people don’t like to drink it, the bubbles almost burn your throat if you’re not ready for them. It doesn’t feel nice, not when you’re unprepared. 

There’s other things in life like that, those pleasant things that can be painful. Like a surprise party for a war veteran. It’s a deed done out of affection, but when he is now in a panic attack on the floor, consumed by flashbacks of horrors you couldn’t imagine, that doesn’t matter. He used to love surprise parties, and horror films, and pranks, but not anymore. Now, now those things are bombs to him, enemy combatants and flying bullets.

I was not prepared for you. You, who loved like war. You, who had fire in your veins, burning. You, who told me you loved me. I met you and you were already on fire. You were sparks and you were flames. You grasped at me, tugging and pulling as though to fill your own empty spaces, yet you were willing to tear yourself to pieces to heal me. If you could have, you would have set the world on fire as well, and I would never meet another just like you.

I was not prepared for you, and you burned me. I was soft, I was blankets and fireplaces, I was held hands and a home and a hug. You were not. You were sudden and surprising, you were blood on the tongue and sheltering from bombs. You treated love like it was a warzone and flinched at affection like it was bullets.

I enjoy soda. It’s a sweet thing, syrup among those burning bubbles. A reward, maybe. Who can say? But I held your face in my hand as you trembled, and you didn’t seem so big. You felt like glass, already broken, like I could blow you away in one breath. You looked at me with such love in your eyes, and such fear. You thought you knew what would happen. You thought I’d break you further, yet you leaned into my thumbs as they dragged across your cheeks. You thought I was an enemy combatant, ready to shoot you, yet you stood so as to die on your feet.

You’d think that if all I liked of soda was the sweet, then I would drink it flat. The syrup, the sugar, and no bubbly mess. You would be wrong. Soda that has gone flat is watered down, less. It is not the same.

I rearranged your broken pieces, multicolored and multi-faceted, into a stained glass mural. I told you we had won the war, I was your relief. I remember tears and I remember breathing like it’d be your last. I remember you, still in my arms as I clutched you. You were a veteran, and I was home. I would not surprise you, I would be here.

You do not like soda. I make you tea with honey.


End file.
